Comedy: Originally, in the Middle Ages, a narrative poem that ended happily, in distinction to a tragedy. In contemporary usage a play or other literary composition written to amuse the audience by appealing to a sense of superiority over the characters depicted. Realistic, concerned with common human foibles. In the end, problems are resolved, order is restored, and the outcome is positive. Comedy can be anarchic and satirical, an effective vehicle for political argument. Many comedies feature the marriage plot, which concludes with lovers entering matrimony.

Malapropism: the comical misuse of language. A staple of comedy, farce, and elements of minstrelsy.

Melodrama: (“song-drama”) a popular form of sensational drama characterized by stark differences between good/evil and emotional exaggeration.

Satire: The literary art of ridiculing a folly or vice in order to expose or correct it. The object of satire is usually some human…

I do not identify with the local group, I do not feel a part of it. I really have never felt like a participant, I’ve always felt like an observer. Always. I only identified this in retrospect, way after the fact, that I have been on the outside, and I don’t like being on the inside. I don’t like being in their world. I’ve never felt comfortable there; I don’t belong to… things where you sacrifice your individual identity for the sake of a group, for the sake of the group mind. I’ve always felt different and outside. Now, I also extended that, once again in retrospect, as I examined my feelings.

I don’t really identify with America, I don’t really feel like an American or part of the American experience, and I don’t really feel like a member of the human race, to tell you the truth. I know I am, but I really don’t. All the definitions are there, but I don’t really feel a part of it. I think I have found a detached point of view, an ideal emotional detachment from the American experience and culture and the human experience and culture and human choices.

Its been a long time, hence, you all should have known that change will come …in the form of myself, returning from the grave of monotony

Few developments have taken place during my online absence meaning I didnt miss much, and yet, you wonder why I returned? Quite simply, because, I wanted to protest agaisnt protest. February 6th will see the release of some flaming garbage: Selma. I;m wondering if the Negroes will use it to be even angrier with us folk, or if they will shed as many tears for their fallen womaniser, as they did during the depiction of “The Passion of Christ.”

Just the other day, I was reading some excerpts from the book, The Shakedown, which attempted to details some of Messi Jessica Jackson’s dodgy dealings, following his “ascension”, which itself, coincided with the mourning of King Coon, or was it Coon King? Ignore me, I’m Jo-King, and here’s one of my Bloggs.

Tuesday 27ths say former black panther Ashanti Alston speaking at the Housman Bookshop in Kings X. No, its not in the station itself but within the area. Although I didnt manage to get there to see the spectacle, I wouldnt imagine that I missed much. In fact, not too long before him, another former panther, Angela Davis, was speaking at South London’s Goldsmith’s University, again, probably saying nothing much. Unlike Mr Alston and his humble audience, I managed to misuse some of my time listening in on the livestream of Madame Davis’ talk, and managed to spot some of the crowd who seemed to be quite spellbound. Professor Davis, perhaps following in the patriarchal footsteps of misogynist same-sexer sympathiser, Dr Huey Newton, was there enchanting her audience, all the while failing to interest me. I quickly did a God’s Son, and zoned out.

I myself am not sure what a former black panther could be other than a fugitive. Police Killer Assata Shakur, hiding away in Cuba, says enough. That said, at least Shakur is wanted whilst Davis, like many women at her age, is attempting to make herself wanted. Unlike Dhoruba Bin Wahad, or even George Jackson, she did not languish in any jail cell, or at least not for any considerable or sustained period, and she was never some esteemed to be dangerous. In fact, few of these speakers, like Emory Douglass, seemed to be have been recognizable during the formal era of the panthers, and yet, with the passing of crackhead, Huey Newton, they all seem to be popping up.

Now lets not get me wrong as I do not think they are lying, at least, not all of them. Maybe some of these former panthers were the ones polishing shoes, changing diapers, handing out milk, preparing breakfast, or molesting women on campuses. I’m not sure. Perhaps some of them were photographers, or like a dire semester class, enrolled for a day, never to show their faces again. At any rate, I doubt they were involved in major shootouts, and would probably have wet themselves in the face of a MOVE like encounter. At any rate, I would politely ask these fakes and demagogues to spare their blushes, do us a favour and “quit coonin'”